


Sucker Punched

by LastRenegadeBandMate



Category: Supernatural, destiel - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Fight Scenes, Fluff, M/M, Professional Jargons, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-11-13 06:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11178639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LastRenegadeBandMate/pseuds/LastRenegadeBandMate
Summary: Dean Winchester is a heavy weight boxing protégé, moving through the ranks of the sports world faster than any novice ever produced by America. With his charming, bad boy looks and devil may care attitude, he's been getting the attention of not only the sports universe, but the media, too.Castiel Novak is a journalist, the only one not impressed by this superficial trouble maker. He's not a sports journalist, but he believes that this man that everyone admires so much is all talk and no bite. So what happens when his editor takes him to one of Dean's matches, and Castiel somehow ends up inside the boxer's gym locker?





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue 

 

  
"You know, Mr. Winchester, this whole act you're trying to pull off about being a bad boy? I don't buy it, not for a second." Castiel leaned across the table, hands gripping his pen and notepad to keep him from punching the smug look off the athlete's face. It wouldn't do him any good to start a fist fight with a pro boxer.

Dean mimicked him, leaning over the table until their faces were merely an inch apart. Cass suddenly felt scared, some part of his brain rattling loudly that he should back off before something happened. But his body was frozen, locked in place by the smoldering look that Dean was giving him. Heat creeped up his spine from somewhere below that he didn't want to think of.

Dean's eyes flicked to the journalist's lips, how it was parted lightly and shiny from the many times that his pink little tongue had licked over it. He knew that Cass didn't do it intentionally, but he felt every dart of that tongue on his own groin, and he was already painfully aware of the way this man moved around him. The journalist was cautious, like a prey being stalked. And Dean knew he was the perfect predator.  
So he made a bold move in the middle of the quiet, private room that he'd gotten in the busiest restaurant in town. He crossed that one inch and nipped at the man's bottom lip in the briefest of kisses. In that short second, he tasted tangerines and sugar, and he wanted more. More of this frustratingly uptight man. But he stopped himself, leaned back against his chair, and studied the shell-shocked look on the journalist's face.

"Oh, Mr. Novak," Dean smirked, not able to help himself to the satisfaction. "Whoever said it was an act?"


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Castiel sees the infamous boxer... What could possibly happen, right?

"I don't understand what the big deal is," Castiel Novak said over his glass of orange juice. It was just 10 in the morning, and he was already feeling tired. This argument was exhausting him. "He's just a boxer."

Gabriel Priest, the chief editor of Texas Daily, sat across from him, a disbelieving look plastered on his face. He knew that his editor was already regretting dragging him to this press conference, and that was fine by him. These weren't his waters, never had been. Sports and him were from different sides of the same pool: both political, only in different ways. He should have just finished his article on the Isis invasions like he'd planned before, instead of indulging Gabriel's whims and covering for a sick co-worker.

"Novak, this guy isn't just some boxer. This is Dean freaking Winchester, and he is the greatest gift to American athletics since Jordan. And this guy's white," The words left Gabriel's mouth so fast that it took Cas a minute to understand what he said. "I'm telling you, this dude, he is going to make our paper big. You have to get on his good side so that we can have the exclusive, man."

Irritation flared inside him. "Gabriel, look, I agreed to this because I thought I was just going to ask a few questions and wave around a recorder. I didn't know that I have to suck up to some--some steroid brained airhead who only knows how to throw punches."

A few heads in the restaurant turned in their direction at the sound of his voice, making him blush. He had completely forgotten that they were sitting in a crowded restaurant, the only one inside the hotel where all the contenders were staying for the match in town. There were a lot of people there, a few boxing junkies hoping for a glimpse at their favorite athlete before the event itself, a handful of people in business suits trying to understand what the hell was happening to their supposedly quiet stay, and a lot of reporters and journalists. The media had practically taken over the place, and yet Castiel felt out of place. As he'd said, sports, celebrities, they weren't his thing. He couldn't care less about who won the Super Bowl or which Kardashian had another boob job, all he wanted was to work on stories that actually make a difference. Not that it mattered to his editor.

"This guy is news, Castiel. He isn't just some airhead. Well, maybe that, and he is an asshole most of the time. And there's the fact that he changes chicks more than I change my box-" Gabriel caught himself before he said anything that could embarrass him, although in Cas's opinion, that was already a fact. Gabriel was embarassing. "Anyway, my point is, this 'airhead'" He emphasized, using his fingers to make air quotes. "Is going to be our ticket to becoming a bigger company. It wouldn't hurt to have more investors on our side."

He frowned, his bright blue eyes marred with worry. He really wasn't sure about this. "I don't know Gabe, I'm really not comfortable with this."

The editor sat back for a moment, as if that would intimidate his political writer to go through with this. The truth was, he really didn't want to push this onto his oldest friend. They have been together for so long, and Cas was there when he was thinking of giving up the whole press business. He was the only guy that kept the good stories coming, who was determined to help him achieve his dream company. But he had no choice. Dean " the Hunter" Winchester had a certain... reputation. He wasn't just called the "Hunter" for his predator-like aura inside the ring. And he had a specific type of prey: uptight, sassy, innocent, and beautiful. Practically Castiel right here.

He knew he had to offer his friend something, bait him into saying yes because in the three months that Dean Winchester has been under the boxing world spotlight, he has never agreed to an exclusive. Landing this will be like hitting a gold mine.

"How about this, old chum? You land us this exclusive, hell even get a tidbit of fact from Dean Winchester that no other newspaper has, and I will fund that trip to Israel that you've been hounding me about. All expenses paid until you have all the material you need to produce a story you're satisfied with."

Cas practically glowed. He'd been begging for that budget for the last year, ever since the news about ISIS hit the fan. This was the opportunity he was looking for. A story like that could be the shot he's been waiting for to finally be acknowledged by his father.

"Do we have a deal Cas?" Gabriel offered his hand, and he couldn't help feeling a little guilty. He was practically offering his friend to Dean on a silver platter. It was like throwing a rabbit into a lion's den.

The journalist smiled, his heart pounding in his chest. "You know I want that story, Gabe."

"Exactly," Gabriel returned the smile, if his wasn't a little bit wicked. "So?"

"Fine," Cas took the offered hand and gave it a firm shake. Something in him was screaming that he walking into something that was way over his head, but the words 'all expenses paid' echoed through his head. "So, what does this Dean guy even look like?"

The other man looked like he had just been slapped by a moose. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Nope." Cas smiled sheepishly, before taking another sip from his juice. "Is that bad?"

"What--How-- Have you been living under a rock these past three months?"

"Hey! You don't have to go that far," A commotion began brewing on the other side of the room, the entrance to the restaurant clogging with huge men clad in tight black shirts and shades. Which was odd because the interior of the restaurant was dark enough. "And for your information, I was too busy trying to find you decent news, instead of all that crap about a chupacabra in Austin that the new intern is trying to publish."

"Oh, right," Gabriel smirked. He knew that the intern was giving crap stories, but he was just his type and looking at the intern's ass made him happier than news in Texas county. "But seriously Castiel, the guy has a practically been the spread on our sports and entertainments sections."

Cas shrugged, popping a blueberry into his mouth before glancing at his watch. There was still a quarter of an hour before the press conference, and he was already feeling jittery. "Neither of those are my departments, Gabe. And I don't really read our paper, I mean, what kind of prick reads his own work? That's like, I don't know, eye-fudging your own kid."

"It's fucking, Cas."

"Shh! What did I tell you about swearing?" The noise by the door was getting louder now, and it was starting to get on his nerves.

"Stop being such a prude, bro. You're not an old woman," Gabriel rolled his eyes, leaning back against his chair. See? Uptight.

Cas just glared at him. He hated arguing with Gabriel, it was like having an extremely exasperating older brother, and he already had Michael filling that role. "You didn't answer my question."

Gabriel opened his mouth to answer but a chorus of squeals interrupted him. Both of their heads turned towards the door, where a huge clump of women had formed an impenetrable wall around some poor guy. This is exactly the reason why Cas never worked in entertainment. He couldn't bear to hound some poor soul that always had their privacy invaded by... Fanatics. He shivered at the mere thought of being manhandled and groped by a bunch of people. He could only imagine how violated those boy band types were.

Cameras started flashing all of sudden, every person's smart phone suddenly out of their pockets and in the air. Even the snobby business people were craning their necks, curious to see who had brought that kind of crowd into a dining establishment.

A chuckle carried through the crowd, a deep, throaty sound that washed over Castiel like a bucket of hot water. His eyes darted over the crowd, his heart racing and the blood rushing inside his ears. His eyes couldn't find the source of the sound, and a feeling of irritation settled inside his chest. Wait, why was he even looking? His blood spiked in answer. No, he couldn't possibly be interested, not in that way. He had always been straight. Heck he even has a girlfriend right now! But the heat that crept up his spine was undeniable.

The crowd of people suddenly parted, revealing a man smack in the middle, and Cas felt that heat spike again. The man was tall, almost a half-head taller than him if he stood, with beautifully tanned skin that housed muscles that made him a little bit jealous. He was wearing big, darkly tinted sunglasses, and a hat-- a fedora?-- that hid half of his face, but even from across the small restaurant, his eyes were drawn to the perfectly sculpted lips. His mouth stood out from his stubbled jaw, and even in the low light of the restaurant, Castiel knew that they were shiny and smooth.

The heat inside him settled on his cheeks, leaving him with a deep blush, and he was suddenly thankful for the darkness. He shifted on his chair, shifting deeper into the shadow of the pillar beside him. His eyes couldn't--wouldn't leave the man, no matter how much his brain chided at him that he was staring. Staring at a man.

A man who looked like he was used to all the attention, judging from the lazy, relaxed smile that curled on his lips and the easy way that he manipulated the people around him into letting him pass. The whole room seemed to sigh as he moved fluidly across it, settling into a chair that one of his guards held out for him. He grinned at the people and gave them a small nod, throwing his arms out onto the two chairs that were beside him. A couple of girls fought among themselves until two emerged, from them, victorious smiles on their heavily made-up faces. One was a beautiful blonde with brown eyes and tiny shorts that encased long, tanned legs, while the other was a Latina, all flowing black hair and long eyelashes. They sat on the two chairs, snuggling up to the man and touching him affectionately. Castiel almost swore he heard them purr.

The whole spectacle snapped him out of it. Apparently, this was just another air head that played around because he knew he could, and a coil of disappointment snaked around his heart. Good thing, too. He was starting to question his taste in people.

He was just turning his head to Gabriel when the man took of his shades, and a little gasp left his lips. Those emerald eyes seemed to glow in the low light, a beautifully bright shade of green that Castiel could see so clearly from his seat.

"That's Dean Winchester," Gabriel cut in, a smug smirk on his lips as he studied his friend. He'd been silent the whole time, watching the expressions on Castiel's face. Maybe he actually did his friend a favor.

Castiel cleared his throat, eyes reluctantly leaving the man with the bright eyes and landing on his editor. It was disturbing how annoyed he felt at that smile. "What?"

Gabriel cocked his head, subtly pointing at the direction of the man. "Dean 'the Hunter' Winchester, my good friend."

Castiel's eyes went back to the man, only to find that the man was looking directly at him. There was a small smile on his lips as Dean looked him up and down, seemingly pleased with what he saw. Cas swallowed, eyes snapping down so he was looking at his lap. He was officially in over his head.

Well. Fuck.


	3. chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas answers a phone call and Dean is?

The press conference flew by in a flash, with Castiel locked in a state of professionalism that he wore over him like a cloak. It was as easy as breathing, as natural as blinking, to ask the uncomfortable questions and poke at the sorest spots. The incident at the restaurant seemed like a distant memory, because he was finally in his own element.

For him, journalism was like shedding his own skin. He could drop the weight of opinions and insights and issues on his own mind and just focus on the facts, on the things that will actually be useful in helping him get a thrilling story that would captivate his readers. It was his own brand of high, and once he started, he wouldn't be able to stop until he had exhausted everything in him. Although sports wasn't exactly his cup of tea, he still made sure to do his job right. 

It was invigorating, like warm honey being poured over him. He loved watching the management teams squirm when the athletes were pressed on issues that no one but him dared to venture into. They were so mothering, it was actually funny to watch.

"I'm not saying I use steroids, I just use a little help to get the-- what I mean is, uhm, everyone uses steroids nowadays, right?" Tyler Matthews, the current bantam weight champion, tried to laugh it off, but Castiel knew that he'd bitten somewhere especially bitter here. The boxer was fidgeting like a sinner in church.

"Sure, Mr. Matthews. But aren't you supposed to not be just like everybody else?" Castiel wrote every detail on his notepad, the side of his pinky rubbing against the paper so hard that it felt raw and hot. But this was his thing, and a little friction burn wasn't going to stop him.

"I think that's enough, the next boxers ought to be ready to come up here now, don't you think folks?" Matthews' manager laughed nervously before waving his entire crew off the stage, along with the crew of the opposing team. 

The room rumbled with the murmurs of the journalists as the crew prepared the stage for the next set of contenders. Obviously, Castiel got the occassional glance of disapproval from his fellow reporters. In this town, he had quite the reputation, especially after his stint in New York. They all knew he wrote features on graft and corruption, not who had more punches in a heavy weight boxing match. And honestly, he was happy with that. Knowing that he had to go out of his comfort zone for this left a sour taste in his mouth, but he needed the funds for his dream story. That story could rocket him high enough to get him his place in the Times back.

"Man, I thought you hated sports," Gabriel clapped a hand on his back, eyes glowing with mirth as he looked over Castiel's notes. It really was a whole different thing when a feature writer wrote for sports. His friend had been asking questions that should go on editorials, stuff that most sports writers avoid to suck up to the athlete of their choice.

"I do," Cas stretched his cramped legs, felt the sore muscles strain against his skin. It was freezing, the air conditioning turned up to the max so that the equipment wouldn't overheat, and that made him cramp faster. "But Michael has a TV for a brain, and he could tell you every sport statistic that you don't even want to know."

"Hey, your brother's cool," Gabriel handed the notebook back to his friend, moving on to checking the photos that he took over the past athletes. "And, he's hot."

He rolled his eyes, scowling at his friend, "I know you're bi and all, but man that is the last thing I want to hear from you."

"What? You think I wouldn't tap that just 'cause he's your bro? Man, I already did. And let you, Michael's tongue--"

"AAH!" Castiel shouted, plugging his ears with his fingers and kicking Gabriel's thigh. "Holy moses, please tell me you're just kidding."

The editor chuckled, "Well, as much as I want to say yes, I don't want to. And what's done is done." He wiggled his eyebrows at the younger man.

A jolt of disgust crawled up Castiel's spine, "Jesus, Gabe! My brother, seriously? I mean, you couldn't throw the ball a bit farther off court here?"

Gabriel smiled, "Aha, see? You know sports metaphors! I knew you had it in you."

"That's not the point," A thought crossed his mind, one that flooded him with curiosity, but he knew that he would regret asking it the moment that he did. But, what can he say, he was literally dying to know. Like, "shoot me with a gun if it's what I think" kind of dying. "Wait, please tell me that my older brother was the top?"

A slow, salacious smile formed on Gabriel's mouth, eyes clouding with memories that would make his friend run far, far away. Or bleach his eyes. Whichever was less painful. "Well--"

Castiel's phone vibrated in his pocket, shaking furiously against his thigh. He took it out and saw that it was Jo, his girlfriend. "Hold that thought," He glared at Gabriel before standing up and moving to the back of the room, making his way across the hall until he was tucked in the crevice just behind the door. The noise, dampened by the distance he'd put between him and the rest of the crowd, came down to a low buzz, quiet enough to hear the voice on the other end of the line.

"Cas? You there?" Jo asked.

"Right here, hon," He ran a hand through his hair. "Something the matter?" 

There was silence for a moment, one that made his heart race faster in his chest. Just before he'd left, he had asked Jo a question, one that he'd never asked previous lovers before. It was a big leap, one that he wasn't exactly sure he was ready to make, but wanted to make nonetheless. Jo was worth it. And that made it even worse, because this was a big decision, and he knew that his heart would break if Jo said no.

"Does that offer still stand?" Jo said after a deep breath, but Castiel could hear the smile on her voice. It was one of the things he adored about her, she was always such a terrible liar. When they met three years ago, she acted all tough and gung ho about everything, and some people bought that front of hers. But not many people knew the real Jo Harvelle, the one that was silly and sweet and beautiful. And he was so, so proud to be one of the lucky few who do. 

"Yes, yes of course!" His feet shuffled nervously against the carpet, squeaking as the leather rubbed against it. "And?"

Jo laughed, that high, twinkling giggle that would make her nose twitch and her cheeks blush. "And, I wanna know how many stones we can put onto the ring."

A chuckle escaped his lips before he could stop it. He knew where this was heading, and he couldn't be happier. "As many as you want, sweetheart."

"Then yes, Cas," Jo paused, a dramatic pause that made the air quiver inside Castiel's lungs. "I will adopt a dog with you. And I want at least three rhinestones per letter on the ring of that collar, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, Ma'am," He couldn't wipe the stupid smile off his face. "You're the boss."

"And you know it," Jo laughed again, and it sounded like pure joy that Cas couldn't help but join in. "What would you ever do without me, Novak?"

"I hope I never have to find out," Okay, it sounds terrifyingly cheesy, and from any other person, Castiel would have frowned and shook his head in dismay. But this was Jo, and she made him happier than he'd ever been in a long time.

"That, was so corny I could've made popcorn with that," A voice called out from the background, and disappointment gnawed at his heart. He knew what that meant, that Jo had to go back to work. "That's my sergeant, I gotta go honey. Say hi to Gabriel for me, would 'ya?"

"Sure thing, and don't let Jodi boss you around too much, okay?"

"Ha! She wishes she could, but I'm working to outrank her on my first year. Wish me luck?" The voice came again, louder this time. Something about a bank robbery downtown?

"You don't need it," Castiel gripped the phone tighter in his hand. "Stay safe, okay?"

"Don't I always?" A pause from Jo's end, probably her covering the receiver to answer to Jodi. "I gotta go now, sweetie. I love you, bye."

The line died before Cas could say it back. He tucked his phone back into the pocket of his trousers before leaning back against the wall. The air was tight in his throat, a giant ball of worry that stuck there and made it hard for him to breathe.

It was always like this, ever since Jo got her diploma from Quantico and got accepted by the FBI Texas HQ. Before this, she had spent her years in college majoring in business, a course that her mother wanted her to take in the hopes that she'd settle down and just run the family business. But Jo was even more stubborn than her mother, and by the time she was 23, she had saved up enough to study crime in the top school in the US, and was already in her second year when she met Cas. It was like a wild jumble of events, their first meeting, a long story reserved for another time. He knew that if they had grandkids, no, when they had grandkids, that story was going to be a huge hit. It always was when it involved a whole gallon of beer.

They have been together for three years, still living separately, and yet Cas couldn't be happier. He knew that Jo was the one for him. It was just one of those things you know by instinct. He never had that gut racing, take-me-on-a-rollercoaster feeling with Jo, he just felt safe. He felt safe and warm and like he belonged somewhere for the first time in his life, and that was love for him. He didn't believe that love was about having a bunch of animals in your gut, making a mess of you. No, he knew that love was supposed to make you feel like home. And Jo was his home. Jo was his soulmate.

Adopting a dog together was one of the things that Cas wanted to do before asking Jo to move in with him. He planned to do it once the dog settled in, an excuse to make Jo stay at his place more often until she couldn't bear to be apart from the little extension of their relationship. That was how his Dad got their Mom, so Cas was hoping the same trick will work on Jo as well. He wanted to take it one step at a time, not make this the kind of whirlwind romance that only seemed good, but never felt quite right.

He sighed, working up the courage to get back into the rush of his work. At least, now, he had something to look forward to. First thing tomorrow, he was going to the shelter and getting that dog, and then that evening they would order the collar online. They'd probably name it something silly like Noodles, but that was okay. Jo did have a turtle named Flash, afterall. Too bad he wasn't fast enough to run from a cat. God rest his poor, slow heart. That was consolation, and motivation enough, and he felt a new found energy to push through the conference and get through the matches.

He pushed away from the wall, lowering his head so he could straighten his clothes as he walked to his seat. His fingers worked clumsily on his tie, the pen and pad still stuck in one of his hands, when he bumped into a solid wall of... Man?

He worked out his best "I'm a harmless, probably stupid journalist, can I get your sources?" smile as he raised his head to look at whoever he collided with. It was an instinctive reflex, bred from all the sucking up he'd had to do before, but the things that followed weren't.

He looked up to bright green eyes, framed by long eyelashes, set on a face filled with smug amusement. Cropped hair framed the strong jaw which showcased a beautiful five o'clock shadow, and Castiel felt the air get knocked out of his lungs. An erratic fusion of fear and excitement and a little bit of everything else rumbled in the pit of his stomach, drying up his mouth of any coherent words.

"You okay?" The deep voice vibrated against him, in him, surrounding him. It was unnatural, and a little terrifying.

Castiel nodded his head and stumbled back, landing back against the wall. He pressed himself against the cool concrete, breathing through his nose. Bad idea, the smell of menthol cigarettes and oak filled his nostrils, depleting the air from his brain and shooting straight to his heart. "I-uh, fine."

"Good," Dean Winchester's lip curled in a wry smile, the corner twitching upward as he took a small step towards the man who squeezed himself against the wall. His wall of bodyguards surrounded the two of them, blocking them from the view of the rest of the hall.

His opponent, Bill Suarez, a Columbian boxer who had six years of experience under his belt, was already on platform upfront, shaking the appropriate hand and kissing the snootiest asses. But this man was far more entertaining. He saw this man in the restaurant earlier, watching him with a bewildered look, that later changed into contempt, as he snuggled up with some of his groupies.

The man now looked terrified of him, like being this close was already too much of an experience. Well, then he was in for a treat.

Dean lifted his hand up, resting the tip of his finger against the man's jaw. He rubbed there for a second before tracing down, following the seam of his jacket to his torso. He kept his eyes locked with the man's vibrant blues, leaning in a bit closer. He could smell the man's breath, which tasted like spearmint and lemons, and he wanted more. He craved more.

The man was shivering under his slightest touch, but defiance burned firmly in his eyes, "What in Moses are you doing?"

Dean cocked his head to the side, glimpsing down where his hand lay. He flipped the man's press pass in his palm, so that the name and the company was facing him. "Castiel Novak, Texas Daily," he let words roll off his tongue. The name tasted sweet, like cinnamon. "Does this bother you?"

Castiel's brow furrowed, a deep knot forming on his forehead. Okay, this was getting way out of hand. He was caught off guard, yes. But he was getting the feeling that this Dean character was making fun of him now.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Will you get your--your paws, off of me?" Castiel squared his shoulders and stood as tall as he could. No better way to face your face than staring them right in the eye, right?

Dean quirked an eyebrow, then lifted his hands in the air as a sign of surrender before taking a step back.

"Thank you. Now, can you ask your, what is this? Wall of flesh? To let me pass through?"

Dean made a gesture with his fingers and the wall of guards parted like the Red Sea. Cas stepped outside of their range and quickly strode to his seat, where Gabriel was seated, gaping at him like he'd just won the Olympics.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the procession of bodyguards, led by a certain Dean Wincester, walk up the stage.

"Did you just get cornered by Dean Winchester?"

"Yes," Cas cleared his throat.

"Was he picking a fight? Or were you?" Gabriel sounded a little more excited than was appropriate at the moment, but Cas let it slide.

"No," Castiel answered again, chewing on the nub of his pen.

"Well, then what happened? None of us could see a thing what with the great wall of bodyguards surrounding you like you were the fucking Crown Jewels." The editor was practically bouncing off his seat. This was getting good, and Gabe could tell that he was going to enjoy this so much.

A microphone started up on stage, letting out a high scream of static as it adjusted to the equipment. As an automatic response, Cas's head snapped up and looked at the people on stage, his eyes snagging on Dean's just long enough to catch the wink that he threw at him.

Castiel's pulse jumped against his skin, and he turned his neck and looked Gabriel dead in the eyes, "What did you just get me into?"

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work on Ao3 and I hope it goes well. Please feel free to comment on my work, I would love to hear your thoughts!


End file.
